“The doctors, did they clear you?”
Casmiro cleared his throat, caught off guard by Angelo’s presence. I knew he always liked to be prepared. “Yes. A few days ago. I’m good.”
Angelo nodded before turning to me again, oblivious. “I got the information you requested,” he said, taking the chair by my side as he handed me the file. “Did a lot of digging. It was buried in the archives; somebody went to a great deal of effort to hide it.”
“My father wasn’t the best at hiding things. If it were me, you would never have found it,” I said, opening it and reading through. My chest tightened with each word I read, realizing how detestable my situation was.
“What is it?” Casmiro asked, sensing the shift in my demeanor.
I could tell Angelo waited for my answer, too, as he had been dying to know why I’d asked him to dig out my military admission file. The one my father never showed me.
“It’s information from my time in the army, or lack thereof,” I said, closing the file. “About a month ago, I had some flashbacks to my time incamp. It was a memory of me and my—well, the person I thought was my commander. I was in some sort of trance. Hypnotized, I suspected. I have only now confirmed it.”
“Why would they do that?” Angelo asked. “Hypnotism is usually reserved for soldiers who suffer from mental breakdowns after a war; you were okay.”
“Hm. It started before any real mission was put in place. My father asked for some private training for me when he found out—” I glanced at Casmiro, realizing my slipup.
“Found out what?” Casmiro asked.
Angelo looked at me, probably wondering if I would say anything.
I sighed. “He found out I had inherited my mother’s mental illness.”
Casmiro’s eyes widened. “What?”
“It is hard to remember what exactly the full diagnosis was. I think I was made to forget some of it. But it was clinical depression, with some other hereditary things.”
Casmiro frowned. “What the hell—”
“Which is not the case anymore,” I lied, and caught Angelo looking away from me. “I am okay. I have just been concerned about this hypnosis issue. I have no idea what memories are real, or fake, or if some of my thoughts are my own. It is concerning.”
Casmiro sat up straighter, worry in his eyes. “We can undo it, right? Seek professional help—”
“Hm. No. I don’t have time for all of that.”
Angelo sat up. “I think Casmiro’s right. You should undo it, get help, get ahold of your mind, and own your thoughts.”
“I am fine. All I wanted was confirmation.”
Angelo’s frown turned personal. “Why are you so hell-bent on never getting professional help with literally anything?”
My response was right on the tip of my tongue. “I am undeserving of it.”
Angelo made a strained noise. “I am tired of hearing you repeat that every time you’re told to get help. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if you were made to think you don’t need help.” He shook his head before getting to his feet. “It’s almost time for one of my meetings…”
My eyes didn’t leave his face, which was etched with a frown. “We will leave for Mexico next week.”
“Noted.” He straightened his blazer. “I will arrive when I can. Have a safe flight,” he said, nodding curtly to Casmiro and me before walking away.
“He knew about it, didn’t he?” Casmiro’s voice had me looking back at him. “You told him.”
“He found out.”
“But he knew,” he pressed, “and I didn’t.”
“It was not important, Casmiro. Do not make an issue of it.”
He sat up. “An issue? You’re not seeking medical help for something that could be detrimental to your health. I didn’t know about it. I am your shadow; I should know everything about you.”
